Page 150 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

"It's small, but it's home."

The simple words settle somewhere unexpectedly deep. Home.

I'd been so focused on work these last few months that I hadn't stopped to think about whether Frostholm had started becoming one.

Keisha studies me over the rim of her mug. "You seem happy."

"I am."

She waits. I know that look. It's the same one she used whenever she knew I hadn't told her the whole story.

"What?"

"You didn't say you were busy. You didn't say you were tired." She smiles. "You said you were happy."

I shrug, trying to sound casual. "I like it here."

"The job?"

"Yes, and the people, the hospital."

She nods thoughtfully. "It really is a wonderful place."

"It is."

"Since I changed over to the med-surg floor back home, I'd forgotten how much I like the rehab department. I almost wandered into the therapy gym the other afternoon out of habit."

"Someone probably would've handed you a resistance band."

"You absolutely would've if you had been there."

We both laugh. The easy kind of laughter that only comes from years of shared memories.

***

The rest of the evening slips by the way that old friendships can.

Comfortably. Effortlessly.

Somewhere between reheated brownies and our second cups of tea, we end up laughing about the time we accidentally switched two patients' resistance bands and spent ten minutes trying to figure out why Mr. Donnelly suddenly thought he had developed superhuman strength.

"You blamed me," Keisha says.

"I absolutely did."

"You were the one who handed him the blue band."

"I was new."

"You'd been there six months."

"I was still emotionally new."

She laughs so hard she nearly spills her tea. "My friend, I have missed you."

"I've missed you too."

The apartment grows quiet again. Not awkward. Just...comfortable. Keisha looks around the room, taking in the overflowing bookshelf, the knitted blanket draped over the sofa, and the small collection of framed photographs on the mantel.